


In The City Streets

by ProneToRelapse



Series: Jim and Seb Drabbles and Oneshots [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Implied relationship, His Last Vow, M/M, Mormor-Relationship, Oops, i'm not crying, mormor, you're crying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:27:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you miss me?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The winter is long and Sebastian has nothing better to do than wander the streets aimlessly, procrastinating for as long as he can before returning to the flat alone. Of course he can’t bring anyone back there, any sex he has is... He doesn’t know where. The past years have been a blur of pain, alcohol and whatever drugs he can be bothered to get his hands on. But it never lessens the pain. How could it ever?

 

He tugs his jacket tighter across his chest and cuts down a road towards Piccadilly Circus. It’ll be the easiest way to catch a cab or get to the underground. He can’t drive in the state his in right now. God knows what would show up in his system if he got pulled over for a DUI.

 

The screens in Piccadilly are showing their usual inane advertisements and Sebastian pays as much attention to them as he normally does, which is barely any. All he wants is to sleep, for as long as it takes for the feelings of loneliness and loss to go away. He never expected to mourn Moriarty. For god’s sake, just because their working relationship encroached into every part of Sebastian’s life didn’t mean that the madman would rip an irreparable hole into his mind and chest.

 

Fuck’s sake. Stupid Irish bastard. Seb doubted if there was a part of him that didn’t hate Jim with a burning passion. Probably the only part that didn’t was the part that caused him to brush his fingers over the urn every morning and every night, the part of him that woke up screaming every night he spent sober.

 

Bastard. Fucking bastard.

 

A car swerved dangerously up ahead and the resulting blare of a car horn made Sebastian look up. What caught his eye made him howl like a wounded animal. There, on almost every screen in Piccadilly Circus and, undoubtedly, every screen in London, was James Moriarty’s face.

 

“Did you miss me?” The screens were soundless, but Sebastian could read the Irishman’s lips like written words, even through the odd blurring to his vision. Tears? He’d never cried for Moriarty before.

 

“You Irish _bastard_!” Sebastian roared and started to run. Somewhere in London Jim had to be waiting for him, and wherever he was Sebastian would find him. And wring his fucking neck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Err, so I posted the first chapter as a sort of drabble/teaser after His Last Vow aired... and now I want to continue it. I'm really sorry about the poor quality of the first chapter. I wrote it whilst really, really drunk... That's what mormor does to me... Heh. Anyway, enjoy!

Foolishness would be returning to the flat first. Idiocy would be returning to the office. Jim could hardly swan into his old workplace and expect it to still be the thriving beehive of workers it had been before he'd left. Just as London had changed, the world had changed  _he_ had changed; there would be no easy way of slotting back into his old ways. No, this was simply not an option. He would have to slowly reintroduce his way back into the world; spread his claws and begin to dig them back in. The old holes he had occupied had healed over and there was little to no possibility that they would be opened up again.

 

Disappointed though he was to find that his throne with the best view of the world had suffered in his self-imposed exile, he was not at all surprised. Leaving no-one in his stead to help the world recover from the criminal loss had been a gamble. But being able to insinuate himself into the seat of the criminal royalty has been a feat he'd accomplished once. He could almost certainly do it again.

 

Without a doubt, Moriarty could rule over London and the rest of the world once more. Like a wild animal that had come to know the scent and touch of a familiar hand, all the world needed was time and manipulation. And Jim could be patient. He could be very, very patient indeed.

 

The crux of the matter, however, was not that Jim needed to re-establish his throne and place in the world once more; it was that he would have to re-recruit soldiers suited to his line of work. Once upon a time he'd had thousands of operatives all within the reach of his spidery fingers. No longer could he reach out an arm and pluck a worker out from the crowd. That time had long passed and his empire, a once great and bountiful kingdom, had been reduced to no more than rubble and dust.

 

An inconvenience, to say the least. He'd expected better from his sniper. He certainly hadn't expected so much wreck and ruin. He’d wanted at least a little something to be welcomed home by. But Sebastian had never been able to see beyond the obvious. So if Jim had emptied that bullet chamber with the back of his head as the target, that is what Sebastian would believe. The evidence of his eyes was incontrovertible. As much as Jim dearly wished his sniper was not so emphatically _dense_ and easily fooled, he had counted on Sebastian’s ignorance to ensure that nobody questioned his demise. And nobody did.

 

It was an impossible situation to rig and win. A catch-22. A paradox and a puzzle. No matter how fond Jim was of challenged, this was one that could not be solved by logic and intellect. Nothing would help him return to his seat in the criminal hierarchy that wasn’t labour and hard work. Plain and simple.

 

Which was why, in front of the entire world, Jim needed to reintroduce himself.

 

There was a time when Jim’s name struck fear into the hearts of many. And no amount of years would change that. Of course people would forget his name, but all they needed was a gentle reminder. Once Jim was revealed, the old cogs and mechanisms of his empire would resume their slow grind in the underworld, and he would slowly rise back into his position of power.

 

Delicious.

 

Worming his way into the brainstem of the planet was his target. All he needed now were his soldiers. And one ex-soldier of paramount importance. After seeing Jim’s decidedly theatrical display of self-inflated declaration, Sebastian would not rest until he had found his once-employer, and possibly murdered him himself. Obviously Jim could not allow that

 

Seated on a park bench in Charing Cross was only a tube’s ride away from Piccadilly Circus, where his face had been plastered on the biggest screens he could find. There, an old source had informed him, was the most likely place Sebastian would see his face.

 

Going with that logic, timing was everything. Waiting at the park for a signal, he waited until Sebastian was in place, and let loose with his grand announcement.

 

 _He’s running. He’ll be looking for you._ The text burned into Jim’s brain like sacrificial fire. He grinned a dark baring of teeth and stood. Time to descend to the underground once more.

 

“Into the belly of the beast,” Jim said cheerily and headed towards the underground station.

 

 

Masses of bodies cluttered the Bakerloo line during rush hour, but it was a necessary hell to endure to ensure that Jim's journey coincided with Sebastian's. He slipped into the nearest carriage amid the clutter of people and swept his eyes over the crowd. A deluge of visual and auditory information swept over him, and he had to concentrate to block out the inane, to silence the clamour, until his world centred on the one person of utmost importance. 

 

Up one carriage ahead, Sebastian Moran was clutching an overhead handhold, eyes bright with barely concealed excitement and fury. Jim desired nothing more than to see that fury up close - to be the victim of its unleashed force. There was nothing greater in the universe than Sebastian Moran's fury sweeping over a victim like a supernova, lighting every corner of darkness with its burning light. Jim repressed a shiver, and slowly slithered between the bodies like a snake towards its prey.

 

Ever the soldier, instinct told Sebastian that he was being watched, but a cursory sweep of the carriage yielded no suspects. His grip on the handhold tightened and his jaw shifted as he clenched his teeth together. Somewhere Jim must be watching him. It fully explained the crawling feeling along his spine, like viscous liquid were seeping under his clothes. Jim's gaze always felt cloying and oppressive. It was easy to recognise the sensation as being caused by that particular criminal.

 

Gleeful of Sebastian's discomfort, Jim slunk even closer, hidden behind a large man in his forties, grey hair hidden by a skilled dye-job. Professionally done. Embarrassed. Predilection for younger women with inherited wealth. Jim edged around him, slightly disgusted. Sebastian’s back was to him now. He was so very close. He could feel Sebastian’s body heat just a few inches away...

 

“Oh, Sinner man, where you gonna run to?” Jim purred into his ear. Sebastian stiffened and, instead of delivering a stream of hissed expletives, he gave a soft gasp and sagged as though Jim had kicked his legs from under him. Uncharacteristically alarmed, Jim reached for him to offer some sort of standing support. But Sebastian was firmly on his feet and Jim’s arm around his waist had nothing more to grip onto other than the gun concealed just inside Sebastian’s jacket. The shape was unmistakable.

 

“You came home.” Seb’s voice was softer than Jim had ever heard it and all his bravado and vindictiveness simmered down to a containable pressure.

 

“Of course.”

 

“To me.”

 

Jim swallowed involuntarily. “Of course,” he murmured after a pause.

 

“I was going to kill you.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I was going to rip you apart and spread the remains through the city. Watch you drown in your own blood as I carved sins into your flesh.”

 

“Beautiful,” Jim gasped, bewitched and transfixed. The low, rhythmic pulse of Sebastian’s upper class baritone washed through him.

 

“I don’t think I can anymore.”

 

“We’ll see, tiger.” Jim’s arm tightened from its position still wrapped around Sebastian’s waist. He flicked the safety off of the gun with his thumb and slid his finger into the trigger guard. Sebastian quivered. “We’ll see.”

 

 


End file.
